Sometimes She is overcome by the beauty of the world

As I sit in my trap, standing on legs made of bravado

I move nowhere because I can’t let it go

Trite, hack, insipid, platitude: words of no true meaning.

The sight of a flower, a dandelion, brings tears to her eyes.

I’m mowing lawns in white shoes staining green with red eyes.

The wine of the machine sounds like spacetime mulching her dreams

A rock ricochets and smashes into a car door. I curse and she hears me. Minds me a quick look.

As the old man cracks open a can of his watery beer, and he yells at me for my misfortune.

It’s my car but I don’t sweat him. His flag beside him, perched on the wood slab wall molded

in mildew creeps me out in a way I just can’t quite explain.

Why he cared so much and still to this day, but like his black lungs, it doesn’t go away.